


my way back home

by Champagne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddles, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Martin is recovering, Reading to Each Other, post 159, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne
Summary: He read until the sunlight faded to purple through the curtains and his voice started to crack and taper off.Sometimes just being there is enough.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	my way back home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallhorizons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhorizons/gifts).



> i've been chipping away at this idea for months now and finally got it to a point where i feel good about posting it. i hope this does the idea justice
> 
> huge thanks to [Osten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostentenacity/pseuds/Ostentenacity) for the beta

“Martin?” Jon placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder, and almost recoiled from the chill he felt there. Instead, he held on tighter.

Martin turned and smiled at him, but there was an edge to it that made it look unnatural, something about the way it was symmetrical when his smiles tended toward lopsided. “D’you need something?” he asked, soft and cheerful and as off-sounding as his smile looked.

The chill in Martin’s skin almost burned, but Jon still didn’t let go. “Are you—” he started to ask, but cut himself off because of  _ course _ Martin wasn’t alright. With the way winter itself seemed to live under his skin, there was no way he was alright. “Do you—” need anything, he was going to ask, but that was just as stupid of a question. Living in this cottage, disconnected from the society they knew and the village a thirty minute walk away, Martin needed connections. He was a social person, Jon knew this, but it wasn’t something they could work on. 

He wanted to help Martin, do something for him, but he was at a loss and didn’t want to crack open that door in his head even slightly. He didn’t want to risk that already ever-present hunger growing unmanageable just because he tried to do something good with it. No good came from these powers.

“Jon?” Martin asked, now looking a little more present, just slightly thawed out. The worry furrowed his brow and had him frowning, but his skin was still ice and his frown was just as symmetrical as his smile. “You alright?”

Jon had to look away, just over Martin’s shoulder instead of at his face, because even with the Lonely trying to sink its claws into him, Martin’s raw affection for him was like a bonfire behind his eyes. Jon felt his face grow hot and his stomach start flopping around like a fish on dry land, and he cleared his throat. Martin tilted his head. “ _ I’m _ fine,” he said, sounding more cross than he felt. “Are, are  _ you _ fine?”

It was the wrong question, which he realized the instant it left his mouth. Martin turned away from him, back to the book he had set out on the table, and faded away just slightly. It sent a spike of panic through Jon’s heart and he squeezed Martin’s shoulder, reminding himself that Martin wasn’t gone yet, that this always happened in steps. Martin rolled his shoulder a little, a halfhearted attempt at shrugging off Jon’s hand, and turned a page even though it was obvious he wasn’t actually reading.

“Fine, Jon,” he said, sounding tired and annoyed and muted. He sighed and rested his head against his fist, leaning away. “Just fine.”

This wasn’t the first time Martin had started slipping back into the fog, but that didn’t help Jon  _ not _ panic about it regardless. He knew, from past experience, that pestering Martin while he was sharp around the edges like broken glass was one way to pull him back, even if it did make him rather cross with Jon for at least a day afterward. Jon knew that it had more to do with Martin’s damaged self image than Jon’s insistence, too. He viscerally hated it, but he also knew there was no forcing major personality change.

Jon knew this about himself as well as he knew it about Martin, but he didn’t want to continue the jabbing and poking and pestering every time Martin slipped backwards. He didn’t want that to continue to be his way of showing he cares when nothing else comes to mind, doesn’t want his own panic to continue to come across as anger like it tends to.

He didn’t think about his next action, he just did it. He reached over and pulled Martin’s book toward him, ignoring the way Martin scoffed and said his name in a warning. He grabbed Martin’s hand to stop him from taking the book back, and held on tight. And then he started to read.

Martin stopped trying to free his hand seconds after Jon started speaking, and went still. Maybe a minute after that, he rested his head on Jon’s shoulder, his nose pressed into his collarbone, and closed his eyes. Jon didn’t stop reading, just turned the page with his free hand and kept going. He was another page in before the sudden weight of Martin’s head pressed down on him, like gravity finally decided to affect it as well.

Jon stopped reading to press his lips to the crown of Martin’s head, and squeeze his hand still in his. Relief flooded through him with the warmth that started soaking into Martin’s skin.

There were a few moments of silence, still too tense for Jon to relax fully, before Martin’s voice rang out softly. It took Jon a moment to realize that he was continuing where Jon stopped, his voice rising and falling like a song. He read until the sunlight faded to purple through the curtains and his voice started to crack and taper off, and then he traded off with Jon with a slight nudge of his head against his.

Jon continued on until the sunlight disappeared completely and Martin was a solid, comforting weight against his shoulder. He touched a brief kiss to his forehead and let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh, relief heavy in his lungs, and then chuckled when Martin muttered, “I don’t recall hitting pause on this audiobook.”

“We’ve been sitting here for a while,” Jon said, no louder than a murmur.

Martin let out a sigh of his own. He hesitated, then shook his head. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jon wrapped an arm around Martin and squeezed, the words caught in his throat. The silence was thick, but comfortable, even with the unspoken words between them.

He cleared his throat and shifted but didn’t try to pull away. “Do you want some tea?” he asked. “We read for quite a long time.”

Martin shifted too, but further into Jon instead of away. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come out immediately. Then, “Can we stay like this? Just for a little while longer…”

It was said softly, like he was almost afraid to put a voice to his desires, but it was enough. Jon squeezed him again, pressed another soft kiss to his forehead, and said back just as softly, “Of course. As long you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> i know i already gifted it via ao3, but this is fic fully dedicated to Osiris, without whom the magnus writers discord server wouldn't exist and i would be wallowing in a deep pool of ideas with no motivation to write
> 
> you've truly cultivated an amazing little group of inspirational and supportive people


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